Your Hurricane
by gentlewinnix
Summary: Lew gets a letter from Dick after five years of silence between them, and decides it's time for him to make things right. Winnix.


_Author's Note:_ Inspired by my previous work _Sorry is Gone._ This is an idea that's been poking at me since I started researching Nix's post-war life two years ago, but it didn't resolve itself into a story until I wrote _Sorry Is Gone_.

Tags for this chapter include: Canon Era, Post-War, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Breaking Up & Making Up, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Apologies, Reunions, Second Chances, Minor Character Death(s), Friends to Lovers, Letters.

* * *

New Jersey  
May 1956

Lew gets the letter on a Monday morning. The return address - in Hershey, Pennsylvania- isn't one he recognizes, but he could never mistake Dick's loopy scrawl, even after five years of having not seen it.

He doesn't open the letter at first, putting it on the table and pouring himself a drink. Lew stares at it as he drinks, no longer relishing the burn of alcohol down his throat, in his sinuses. The warmth that pulses through him feels like a fever, and he thinks, _I'm sorry. I've failed you again._

Lew finds the courage to open the letter after he's emptied a bottle, and reads it with bleary eyes.

_Nixon,_

_Hope you've been well. Bill Guarnere invited me to an Easy Company reunion this month. You're welcome to join. Will send details upon response._

_R. Winters_

Lew's stomach twists. "Christ," he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. He can't deal with this, not now. He folds the letter and tucks it in its envelope, leaving it on the table and quitting the room.

* * *

December 1955

Lew watches Irene's back as she walks out the door, her suitcase in tow. The door slams shut behind her, and Lew is suddenly and completely alone. The tears he'd failed to shed for months now sting at his eyes, and when he tries to breathe, he drags air into his lungs with a wretched gasp.

Lew backs up until he hits the wall and slides down to the floor, gulping for air in a way he hasn't since Nuenen, when he thought for a brief moment that a bullet had torn through his skull and he would die on a street in Holland without ever telling Dick Winters how he felt. But it's different now; there is no hope for reconciliation with anyone he'd once cared for. His mother and sister are dead; and Kathy, Dick, and now Irene are all gone. His father refuses to see him, too busy trying to save grandpop's dying business and furious with Lew for never taking any initiative to help. Lew is well and truly alone, and the stark realization feels like a bayonet to the chest.

He takes his flask from his pocket and drains it in one swallow, accepting the burn of it down his throat as penance for his sins.

_This is what you wanted,_ he thinks bitterly.

* * *

May 1956

Lew spends a week struggling to write a response. He throws out six half-written letters before settling on one and sending it before he can change his mind.

_Dick,_

_Interested in the reunion. I'd like to see you before, if it's possible. Got some news._

_Nix_

* * *

California  
November 1955

"Jesus Christ," Lew says for maybe the tenth time. He's sitting on the loveseat in his sister's living room, nursing his third glass of whiskey before noon. Irene is speaking with an officer in the parlor, and two others wheel a stretcher into the room. Lew's eyes catch on the figure atop the stretcher; covered by a sheet is his baby sister, who he and Irene had talked to not even twelve hours before. He watches the policemen take her away and finishes his glass, dropping his head in his hands.

Some time passes before he hears the door close, and the cushions of the couch dip beside him. He sniffs and lifts his head, looking up at Irene. Her face is somber- eyes rimmed red from crying, ashy blonde hair askew- and Lew feels the ugly black thing in his chest swell and ache. He loves her so much, but he's only dragged her into his own mess like he had everyone else.

"This isn't happening," he says, his voice thick and foreign to his ears. "Please tell me it isn't."

Irene reaches for Lew's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.

"It's happening," she says, that lilting English accent Lew once loved so much now corrupted by this terrible event. Strangely, he feels incapable of crying, his eyes dry as a bone. He knows this won't change anything; Irene is still going to leave him as she had said she would a week ago, as Dick had four years ago.

Still, he begs: "Please don't leave me."

Irene's face softens, but she lets go of Lew's hand. "I won't, just yet," she says. "But after the funeral service...I'm sorry, Lewis, but I can't do this anymore. Your father has ruined all of us. I'm going to go back home."

"Aldbourne," Lew says dully, the place but a distant memory now. Irene nods.

"Home," she says.

Lew tries to remember what home felt like, and thinks of Dick Winters, and a war.

* * *

Ohio  
May 1956

The day before the reunion, Lew meets Dick at a diner near his hotel in Cincinnati. Dick is already there when Lew arrives, chin in hand as he stares out the window. He looks tired, like he did when he left New Jersey for good, and Lew's chest feels tight. He feels a quiet, bubbling sense of anxiety he hasn't felt in a long time; since he parted ways with Dick before the jump on D-Day, perhaps.

Dick looks up when Lew slides into the booth across from him, and doesn't say anything.

"Hi," Lew says after a moment, breaking the silence.

"Nix." Dick's eyes run the length of Lew, and Lew can't decipher his expression. His eyes snap back up to Lew's face after a moment, and Lew is taken aback by the years he sees in that cool blue gaze. "I didn't expect you to show," he says, and Lew grimaces.

"I almost didn't," Lew admits, picking at the cuff of his sleeve.

Dick looks unimpressed. He takes a sip of his coffee, setting the mug down with a sigh. "I agreed to this meeting because you said you needed to tell me something. I'm hoping it's an apology."

Lew swallows. "Uh, yeah, that's- that's part of it," he says, stumbling. He's interrupted by the waitress, who takes their orders briskly. When she's gone he says, "Look, Dick, it's been really tough, the last few years."

Dick bristles. "If you're asking for me to come back, that's a no," he says with vitriol. "I don't need you anymore, and I'm better off without you."

"Jesus Christ." Lew's stomach twists uncomfortably in the face of Dick's anger, and he looks out the window, his jaw working. He'd never been any good at this; talking about feelings, or apologizing, and he wets his lips. "Look, I just- I wanted you to know, I never stopped caring about you."

Dick scoffs, incredulous. "It sure didn't seem like you cared," he says. "I spent nine months at Fort Dix wondering what I'd done wrong, and I realized I'd done nothing but fight desperately for your attention since getting back home. And you ignored me."

Lew grimaces. "Things were different, back home. I never meant to hurt you."

Dick crosses his arms over his chest. "But you did."

Lew swallows, looking down at the surface of the table between them. It's scratched and cloudy with age and use, and dirt is trapped in the cracks too thin for a washcloth to reach.

"I know I did," Lew says, finally. "And I- I'm sorry, Dick. I really am. I have no fucking clue how to fix this, but I want to. I swear to God I do." He chances a glance up at Dick after he's been silent for a moment too long, and sees surprise on Dick's face.

"You mean it," Dick says, finally, and it's not a question.

"I do," Lew confirms.

Dick sighs, unfolding his arms. "That's all I needed to hear." He quirks a smile, sliding a hand across the table, closing his palm over Lew's knuckles. "Thank you, Lew."

Lew smiles.

* * *

New Jersey  
September 1951

"I'm quitting," Dick says to Lew. "As soon as I find somewhere else to work, I'm leaving."

"What?" Lew blinks, startled. He tries to stand up and fails, falling back into the couch woozily. Whiskey sloshes in his empty stomach and he feels queasy, but he ignores it, looking up at Dick. He's never seen Dick this angry before, his lips drawn down, his blue eyes bright and hard with fury.

"Your mother in-law called me," Dick says. "Asking for my help. Your father was drunk, and he'd hit her. So I went over to his place. And he pulled a gun on me."

"Jesus Christ," Lew mutters. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, it wasn't loaded," Dick says. "But it could have been. He just laughed at me."

"Okay," says Lew, struggling to understand. "But...why're you leavin' me?"

Dick huffs. He bends down, reaching for the glass of whiskey in Lew's hand. He pries it away and holds it up.

"Hey!" Lew exclaims, swearing. "Gimme that." he stands, reaching for the glass, but topples forward and hits Dick's chest. Dick pushes him back and he falls against the couch again, defeated.

"That's why," Dick says. "Look at yourself, Lewis. You're making a fool of yourself, and everyone in town knows it. The parties, the drinking, your father. I've had enough of it. I can't watch you destroy yourself like this. I don't know how Irene can stand it. You know how your father talks about her." He gestures at Lew, encompassing all of him. "This isn't my best friend," he says, and the fight goes out of him. He bends his knees, perching on the coffee table, and sets the glass down by his hip. "This isn't the man I fell in love with."

Lew doesn't know what to say. His stomach churns again and he grabs the nearest bowl, throwing up in it. He realizes too late that it's a fine porcelain bowl worth more than Dick makes in a week, and groans.

"Yeah," Dick says softly. "That's what I thought." He stands up, starting to walk away.

"Wherr you goin'?" Lew slurs, fear sparking in his chest.

"I'm going home tomorrow," Dick replies, his voice harsh. "I'm tired of this."

"Please," Lew begs. "Please, don't leave me." He can't articulate his fear or desperation like this, and he lets out a low, wordless whine. If it can't be fixed now, Dick will be gone from Lew's life, and they both know it.

"I'm sorry," Dick says, and Lew's last bit of hope shatters. "You have Irene."

* * *

Ohio  
May 1956

"You said you had some news," Dick says, looking at Lew. They've just had their food brought to them, and Lew nods, swallowing.

"Yeah. Blanche is dead," he says hollowly. "Killed herself in December."

"I'm sorry," Dick says, and manages to sound like he means it, like it isn't just a useless platitude.

"I was there, visiting with Irene," Lew continues. "Irene- she found her. I had no idea…" he trails off, swallowing thickly. "I should've been there for her. For Blanche. You should've seen the newspapers, Dick. God. It was just awful. No respect for the dead." Lew realizes he's crying, and wipes his eyes with his free hand.

"Irene finally had enough a week before that," he continues dully. "She filed for divorce, and went back home after the funeral. Can't say I blame her. And then I realized I had to stop all this. Get sober. Make things right with you. Or try to, anyway. Maybe we can't ever go back to what we had during the war. But- I need my best friend."

Dick's lips twitch down in a small frown. Lew turns his hand over, pressing his palm into Dick's.

"I don't expect you to forgive me," he murmurs. "I know I hurt you. The funny thing is, I pushed you away 'cause I didn't want to hurt you worse than I already had. But I think I just made things worse for both of us."

"Yeah," Dick sighs.

"There's a lot I never told you," Lew admits.

"I know." Dick squeezes Lew's hand. "I knew, then, too. I was waiting for you to be honest with me, Lew. And- I got tired of waiting. I wanted to help you, but you wouldn't let me in. I had to give up on you, for my own sake. I spent so long taking care of everyone but myself."

"During the war, I took care of you." Lew says, remembering.

"And then you didn't anymore." Dick swallows, looking up at Lew. "You see?"

"Yeah." Lew slumps back into the booth, letting go of Dick's hand. "I'm really sorry."

"I know." Dick smiles faintly. "I can take care of myself, now. And- I can take care of you, too, I think."

Lew looks up, eyebrows raised. "You'd have me back?"

Dick shrugs, his smile faltering. "I'll give you a second chance," he says. "But we do things my way, this time. I'm not going back to New Jersey. And...the drinking. It has to stop."

"Yeah," Lew clears his throat, sitting up straighter. "About that. I, uh, I've been trying to cut back, actually. On my own."

"Oh," says Dick, blinking. "That's great, Lew."

"Thanks." Lew flushes, feeling faintly embarrassed. "I tried quitting completely, but...I don't think I can do it alone."

"You won't be alone," Dick says, and he smiles. "You have me."

* * *

New Jersey  
July 1946

Dick's visiting with Lew and Irene one night when he gets the phone call. Lew watches from where he's sat in his favorite armchair with an open book in his lap as Dick listens, his face stricken.

"I'll be there tomorrow," he says. "Love you, Mom." He hangs up and looks to Lew.

"What is it?" Lew asks, closing his book. He sets it aside and goes to Dick, taking his hand in his own.

"Dad's in the hospital," Dick says, sounding bewildered. "They said- they said he's not gonna make it."

"Christ," Lew mutters. "I'm sorry, Dick."

Dick shakes his head, but he doesn't dispute anything Lew had said. "I'm going to bed," he says, shrugging off Lew's touch.

"Yeah, alright," Lew agrees, watching Dick climb upstairs. Every part of him cries out to follow Dick, to curl up with him and hold him close, but that part of their lives is over now. He goes back to his chair and picks up his book, trying not to think about his best friend alone in his guest bedroom.

Irene finds him sitting there an hour later still staring at the same page, lost in thought, and herds him upstairs and into bed.

* * *

Pennsylvania  
May 1956

Dick and Lew decide to skip the reunion, and spend the weekend alone together in Cincinnati. Afterwards Lew buys a ticket to Pennsylvania, and they fly in to Reading together. They pack their suitcases in the trunk of a taxi which takes them to Hershey, into a secluded forested area, and are dumped out at Dick's quaint little house. Dick explains to Lew that he'd bought it after coming back from Fort Dix in 1952 and finished renovating it in 1954.

"You ever get married?" Lew asks, wondering why he hadn't thought to ask before. It's a modest home; he could easily see Dick living here with a wife and two brats. But Dick shakes his head.

"Never met anyone," he answers, unlocking the door and letting Lew step inside. Lew looks around as he steps in, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up in the closet. Dick shows him to the guest room, and Lew puts his suitcase down, inspecting the room. It's sparse, like the rest of the house, but comfortable.

Lew turns to see Dick leaning against the doorjamb, just watching him, and Lew lets himself really look at Dick for the first time. He looks diminished from when Lew had seen him last; less muscle, thinner cheeks, his eyes faintly bruised, hair dull and just beginning to recede. He's wearing a heavy grey sweater and trousers, and the clothes seem to swallow his lean frame. Lew tries to imagine him in a uniform, and can't see it anymore.

Dick is looking at him, too; sizing him up. Lew knows he's put on weight- more than he likes, and his own hair is coming in grey in some spots. It's strange to think that they've known each other for almost half of their lives, and spent a quarter of that time not speaking at all.

Lew reaches for his flask, holding it up for Dick to see. "This is all I brought," he says. It's half empty already, and Dick raises an eyebrow. "I've tried quitting cold turkey. It's not pretty."

"We'll get through it together," Dick says quietly.

* * *

New Jersey  
January 1946

Lew sees Dick the moment he steps off of the train. He grins as he walks over to his old friend. They had always been able to find each other, one way or another, and it's reassuring to see that it's no different back home.

"Lew!" Dick says, a smile spreading across his face. He drops his things, wrapping his arms around Lew. "It's so good to see you."

Lew chuckles, patting Dick on the back. "I missed you too," he says teasingly, but they both know the statement is genuine. Dick pulls away first, his cheeks pink.

"I was worried I wouldn't be able to find you," he remarks, picking up his suitcases.

"Here, let me," Lew says, and takes one of the cases from Dick. "You're impossible to miss. How many tall lanky gingers does one see in a day?"

Dick grins, bumping his shoulder against Lew's.

"Let's go home," he says.


End file.
